


Full Circle

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-04
Updated: 2001-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-07 04:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Justin falls in love.





	Full Circle

You remember meeting him and thinking he was a major dork. There was no doubt in your mind that JC was a loser. His hair was stupid, and he was annoying, and no one else seemed to like him all that much. You got stuck with him the first day, when he showed your around and where things were filmed and the best places to find snacks. His jokes weren’t funny, and he kept tripping over his own feet. 

But you were young, and they were cliquey. They didn’t want to hang around you because you were only twelve years old, and you were painfully aware of it, but JC tried to include you in everything, and eventually, you were embraced. He was still a huge dork, but he seemed to like you, and he’d been around there a lot longer than you had. 

You didn’t stand up for him when they talked about how weird he was behind his back, and sometimes, you laughed with them and made fun of the way he talked to the music director, thinking he knew everything, or how he would study the music you guys were supposed to sing just so he could get it perfect. His clothes were embarrassing, and he did terrible impersonations, and he didn’t seem to realise that everyone laughed at him. 

You were twelve years old, and you didn’t want to be his friend. 

~~~ 

On your thirteenth birthday, everyone teased you all day and messed your hair, which annoyed you to no end, and you got pissy early on. The cast bought you a television with a remote control and a VCR. You remember how cool you felt to be loved by everyone so much. It was really your first taste of fame. 

JC got you his own present, a basketball signed by Michael Jordan because, somehow, JC had connections. He gave it to you when most of the people had left, and he refused to look at you when you were tearfully thanking him because you could barely grasp just how much this meant to you. 

He just shrugged and walked away, and you suddenly felt worse than you ever had before in your entire life. You made fun of him that morning for helping your mom decorate your cake, behind his back like usual, and you laughed at his ugly pants. You felt like shit. 

You ran after him and found him out on the curb waiting for his mom. He smiled when you approached and you sat down next to him, the basketball on your lap. “It’s really cool, JC, really,” you said and meant it. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever got me. Better than the television, totally. It’s so cool.” 

JC grinned and buried his face in his knees, playing with the ragged hems of his jeans. They were patched on the knees with strips of plaid. “Well, I just thought you’d like it, you know. You’re always going on about that guy. And, yeah. I’m glad you’re happy with it.” 

“I am,” you assured him, “I really, really am.” 

~~~ 

You were fourteen when the Mickey Mouse Club ended and you went back to Memphis a different boy. You felt older, and you acted older, and you didn’t fit in at school. The girls fawned over you, trying to get close, and you felt uncomfortable when they flocked so near, invading your space. The boys tried to beat you up because you could sing and dance and somehow that meant you were a faggot. You said you weren’t, but it didn’t matter. You sang and danced and that was crime enough. 

You came out of school one day with a bloody nose and bruised pride, but you weren’t crying. You were tough like that. You walked across the field and heard your name shouted and turned around to see JC. He looked exactly the same, though his hair was longer and he was wearing regular old jeans. 

“Your mom said you’d be here,” JC said, sidling up to you, and you rubbed at your nose. JC didn’t question or anything, just looked in your bag for the Kleenex your mom made you carry and wiped your face clean. “Did you fight back?” 

You nodded, sniffing loudly. Your nose was aching and raw. 

“Good.” JC threw out the bloody Kleenex and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, um. My demo thing didn’t work.” You remember how he laughed at that and kicked the grass, sending up a cloud of dust. “I suck, actually. I’m going back to Orlando.” 

You frowned because you really thought he’d make it. He loved singing more than anything; it was his life, and it hurt you to think that someone who breathed music couldn’t make it. It meant you weren’t going to make it either. 

“You’ll be better than me, Justin,” JC told you, “don’t worry. When people honestly like you, that’s when you get the most in life. Just keep being you, and you’ll do just fine. The people love you. That’s all you need.” 

And you remember the way he looked when he said it, and you realised he knew all along what everyone thought of him, but he never cared until that moment, not until he was a failure and realised it was because he was strangely different from everyone else. 

You were empty inside for months after he left Memphis, and you wrote him letters but he never responded, except to send you postcards from Florida with nothing on them, but you knew it was him because that was the kind of thing JC did for you. 

Somehow, JC became the world to you. You realised when you were looking at pictures of him with your hand down your pants that you probably were a faggot and that you probably did love him. You slept with his postcards under your pillow and pretended they were him, and you begged your mom to go back to Orlando so you could sing and dance. 

Of course, you packed up all your things and moved back; she never could say no to you. 

~~~ 

The night Chris called, you were in your room, mostly naked and touching yourself, thinking about JC and hell and sure you should probably tell your mom what was going on. You were missing school because you were so worried about what was wrong with you, so afraid of these feelings that you puked and shook all over, but they weren’t going away, and you couldn’t imagine life without JC in your head. 

You scrambled into clothing when your mom knocked on the door, and you took the phone with the hand that didn’t smell like sex. You remember how you whispered -- “hello?” -- into the receiver and how relieved you were when you recognised the voice as Chris, who had you in stitches during the audition and bombed it as badly as you did. He bought you lunch afterwards, and your mom sat three tables away while you played grownup. 

You agreed to be in the group before asking your mom, and you hung up without getting Chris’s number. Chris phoned right back, calling himself -- “a fucking moron” -- before apologising for swearing and begging you not to tell your mom. You laughed at him and wrote down the information. When you realised what you’d done, planned your life at age fourteen, you crept down the stairs to where your mom sat watching Wheel of Fortune. 

“Mom?” You said, your sticky hand behind your back. “Remember Chris?” 

And she nodded. “Of course. He’s hard to forget.” 

“He’s forming a singing group, like Boys II Men, a real singing group. I said yes already,” you confessed, staring at your feet, which were big and ugly and bent, and they looked huge under the cuffs of your pants. “Can I?” 

“Anything for you, sweetie,” she said, and the way she said it hurt you in ways you couldn’t understand, and you broke down before her, just a child. You fell into her arms, crying hard onto her shoulder while she patted your back, and you sobbed out why you’d missed so much school and why you were afraid you were a sinner and that you liked JC in a way you shouldn’t. 

You called yourself a faggot, and the grip on your back grew so tight it hurt and your mom whispered, “don’t ever say that about yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She cradled you and said she’d always known and that the church wasn’t always right. “I love you, sweetie, I always will. God made you special in so many ways.” 

You met up with Chris the next day, and you told him that you knew a guy who could sing with heart and soul, who would be perfect for the group because music was his life, and it flowed through his veins. 

You left out the part about loving him. 

~~~ 

You felt young the night you, Chris and JC went to Pleasure Island. You were young, only fourteen years old and strange looking, caught between childhood and adulthood. The girls still hit on you, and Chris teased you about being a ladies man. You blushed more that night that you ever had in your entire life. 

You remember meeting Joey, who JC somehow knew, and Chris knew too, and you sat around while they called each other names and laughed and did adult things. You watched your coke, knowing that as long as they kept talking, you were hidden from the girls. 

JC asked you if you liked Joey afterwards, and you shrugged and said you didn’t really know him, but he seemed nice enough, and he made you laugh with his jokes. You didn’t want to tell JC that had you hated him when you guys first met. JC and Chris both wanted Joey to join the group, and you said sure. You were, after all, only a kid, and they knew better. 

~~~ 

You were the one who found Lance, and you liked him right away, though he didn’t say anything and always looked like he expected someone to tell him it was all a trick. Chris joked with him, and Lance only smiled a bit. Both Joey and JC tried to get him to talk, and he did, but he never said more than a few words. You liked him anyway because he had this huge voice but looked like a girl, and you found him comforting in the way that he sat still and looked around. 

He was only two years older than you, so of course you roomed together when Lou moved you all to Germany. Your mom tried to room with you, but it was embarrassing enough that she was touring with you, and you couldn’t bear to live with her, too. You and Lance bonded because his mom came overseas a lot and cut his hair in the bathroom and washed his underwear in the sink just like your mom did. 

You barely remember the night you shared your secret. JC, Chris and Joey were out being men, and you were supposed to be boys, but Chris left behind a small bottle of vodka and swore he’d kill you with toothpicks if you ever told your mother. You smiled and said your mom was sleeping with a very bad headache and wouldn’t wake up until morning. 

Your whispered confession of liking JC a lot barely got to his ear, you were so afraid to say it, but Lance just smiled and whispered back that it was cool because JC was pretty cute. You looked at each other and laughed quietly and realised you were the same. 

It changed everything for you. 

~~~ 

By the time of your sixteenth birthday, you were a minor superstar. You had fans and girls screaming your name and the whole thing was really taking off, but you still stayed in every night with Lance, still too young to be a man. 

JC was dating a pretty blond girl, and you liked her a lot, which made you miserable. It was all right, though, because you weren’t quite as in love with JC anymore. You were in love with Chris for three weeks, and Joey for a weekend. Your love for Lance took a couple months to grow and by the time you realised it existed, you were madly in love with him and thought about him in the shower. 

“What you wanna do?” You asked one night, lying on his bed next to him while he read his book for school. You usually did homework together, but Lance liked to stay ahead of it while you just wanted to get it done and play. 

“I don’t know,” Lance said, and you watched his eyes lift and settle on you, “what do you wanna do?” 

“I’m horny,” you said quietly, but you always were. You can still remember how it felt at that age, to be turned on by everything, and you were embarrassed of your constant hard-on. You were sure everyone noticed. 

“Oh,” Lance said. “Um. Okay. Here.” 

Lance’s hand was shaking as he put down his book and rolled onto his side, and you jumped when his fingers slid under the waistband of your sweatpants. You didn’t have anything on underneath, and you were already hard before he touched you. His fingers on your dick were something close to heaven, and your hips lifted to get deeper into his hand out of sheer desperation. 

“Take them off,” Lance whispered, biting his lips, and you scrambled out of the pants, looking down at your body and your cock and blushing furiously because you’d never been this naked in front of anyone before. Lance’s hand on your dick was a sight you tried to burn into memory, and he kept his head on your belly while he jerked you off, his breath tickling your skin. “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your ass tightening every time he moved his fist. Your belly rippled with each motion of his hand, and you had to bend your knees and curl your toes because it felt so good. It was your first time with anyone, and you were immensely glad it was with Lance. 

When you came, you blushed because it got all over Lance’s comforter, and you were terrified of what the cleaning lady would think when she saw it. Lance just wiped it up with a Kleenex, flushing it down the toilet. 

You offered to do it back to him, but he told you it wasn’t necessary and said he was tired and going to bed anyway. You kissed his cheek when you got up, all lanky and naked and only a bit self-conscious of it all, and Lance smiled sadly. 

Your love for him let you be brave and smile back. 

~~~ 

A couple weeks later when Chris, Joey and JC went out, it was Joey who brought you a bottle of tequila and taught you how to do tequila shots. Lance didn’t want to drink, but Joey used him to demonstrate, and Lance got drunk pretty quickly. You did a couple shots and promised Joey that you would finish the bottle. 

It was the same day that you went up to Chris and asked him to buy you a porn video if you gave him the money. You knew he owned a lot because he was goofy and the girls really didn’t know what to make of him, so he spent a lot of nights with his videos, secure in the knowledge that one day he would have groupies. He said all right and was about to leave when you grabbed his arm and blurted out, “with boys.” 

He looked at you in what could only be called utter surprise, and you blushed and stammered when he asked you if you were gay, and you said, yeah, you were. When he asked if your mother knew, you nodded and said she’d known since you were fourteen, then he hugged you tightly and offered to set you up with his gay cousin. You smiled but said no, and three hours later, he gave you your video and winked. 

You did finish the bottle, and your tongue ached with it. Lance was sitting quietly next to you, and you remember looking at him and touching his throat, running your fingers over the bump of his neck. You loved him more and more with every breath you took. You got up and put the video into the VCR and sat back, watching as the screen came on. There was no pretense as the actors got right to it, and Lance took in a deep gasp of air, but you watched it together, holding hands and laughing when it got too cheesy or too sexual. 

“Are you turned on?” You whispered, and he nodded. You said, “take off your clothes,” and he did, slowly and carefully sliding everything off as you did the same. He was smooth all over, beautiful. You sat next to him, your shoulders touching, your thighs rubbing. You remember how you had to think about breathing, and how every time you did, you shuddered. Somewhere deep inside, you were on fire. 

Hesitantly, you touched yourself, whimpering, and he looked at you with wide, strange eyes, rumbling in his throat as he watched you squeeze and pull your cock. Spreading your legs, laying one thigh over Lance’s, you jerked off slowly, gasping in tiny breaths while you struggled not to come, to stretch it out. 

“You, too,” you said, having to force your fingers away, and Lance shook his head, blushing. You simply moved so you were sitting across from him, your legs bent and your feet pressed against his hips. The lines of his legs and yours created a smooth oval, and you ran your palm over the arc, along your thigh, then both of his and then back along yours. “I want to see. Lance, please.” 

“I’m not,” Lance whispered, “I don’t look good like you do.” 

“I think you look amazing,” you said, and your voice sounded clear and strong when you said it. Lance didn’t look so much like a girl any more; his face was taking on angles and his cheeks were a bit rough. Pretty soon, you were going to be the only boy left in the group. 

You leaned forward as Lance put his hand between his legs, and you watched him stroke himself awkwardly, couldn’t help but stare at the fingers against the dark skin. Your hand was moving in synch with him, and pretty soon, your foreheads were pressed together. It was dark in there, with slivers of light shining in beneath your legs. When he lifted his head, so did you, but you didn’t kiss. You simply tucked your face against his neck and breathed. 

He came before you did, and his noises set you off. You mingled and mixed on the carpet, leaving a huge stain, and it was your turn to clean it up. You ran into the bathroom, and when you came out, Lance was in his own bed. It sounded to you like he was crying. 

~~~ 

You bought Lance a card that said _I love you_ and signed your name to it shakily, then you hid it under your pillow and didn’t give it to him. Lance was suddenly shy around you, and you wanted him back to the way he was. He would look at you and blush, and you’d blush too but for different reasons because you remembered his hand between your legs and his, and how you felt when you came as he watched. 

It was another one of those boy-nights when it was just you and him, and you sat down beside him and put the card in his hand. You chewed your nails to shreds while he slowly opened the envelope and read what you’d written. You’d added a bit more in your teenage angst, explaining what you felt and that you hoped he felt the same way or things were going to be really awkward between you. 

“This isn’t a joke?” Lance finally said, tucking the card back into the envelope, and you shook your head and kept chewing the tips of your fingers until they stung. “But you’re,” Lance said and pulled your fingers out of your mouth, “Justin, you’re beautiful. You can have anyone you want. I’m just. I’m just a convenience.” 

You remember the pain in your stomach when he said it and you realised he believed it, so you cupped his face in your hands and kissed his lips. You were sixteen, and it was your first kiss. Lance never closed his eyes, and you saw the green up close. “I want you,” you whispered with your saliva still wet on his lips. “I need you.” 

And you did. That night was the first time you put a dick in your mouth, and you were terrified as you kneeled aside his legs, bent over him. You said you’d go first because Lance was as much as virgin as you were and one of you needed to be brave. 

You choked and you gagged and you loved it. You started giggling halfway through and that made Lance giggle too, so you laughed as you licked his cock and sucked the head into your mouth, choking again and getting him with your teeth. “Sorry, sorry,” you kept saying, pressing your tongue flat against the wounded areas. You really hoped you would get better at it. 

You choked again when Lance came; you swallowed most of it, but it caught you by surprise and it was all over your chin. Lance was red and blushing, but you just wiped it off on your pants. You laughed yourselves sick for five minutes, naked and rolling all over each other, until Lance caught his breath and said, “my turn.” 

You remember the relief you felt when Lance wasn’t good at it either, though better than you, and you hissed when his teeth clipped your skin, but you didn’t stop him because it felt good, despite the fact Lance was clumsy and cautious. When you came, he swallowed but pulled off before you were done, and you got him in the eye. 

You don’t remember laughing quite so hard in your entire life. 

~~~ 

You were with Lance when he came out to his mother, and you cried with them, holding onto your own mom while she stroked your hair and said Diane still loved Lance and you didn’t need to worry about that at all. You remember the pride on your mom’s face when you and Lance held hands and said you were in love. Diane kissed you on the forehead ten times, and then both moms took a roll of pictures, making you and Lance pose for the camera. 

That night, your moms took you out to dinner but sat across the restaurant. It was your first date in public, and you knew you couldn’t hold his hand or tell him aloud that you wanted him or making silly, gooey faces, but it didn’t matter. You and Lance talked for hours about nothing, and you walked home with him, wanting to grab his fingers but knowing you weren’t allowed. 

You were seventeen at this point, and you knew how to play the ladies. Your fans needed you to be straight, and you were for them. It was the least you could do. Lance tried to be straight, but he didn’t do it very well, and you consoled him when he cried about the gossip mags and the things they said about him. Lance got better at it, and you relaxed when rumours started that Lance was dating a girl from television. 

Chris was the first one in the band you and Lance came out to as a couple. You were shopping, and Chris needed conditioner for his hair. Casually, you and Lance wandered off to the condoms, but Lance chickened out and left you alone. You stood there and didn’t have a fucking clue what to buy because it all looked exactly the same. When Chris came up to you, he grabbed a box from the wall and made you hold it. 

“And this,” you remember him saying, pressing a cylinder of lube into your other hand. You blushed furiously and tried to get him to buy it instead, but he just squeezed your shoulder and said no way in fucking hell was he going to do that. “And Jup,” Chris said, “before you do anything, talk to me, all right? Both of you,” Chris stressed, looking at Lance, who was trying not to look back. 

It was Chris who gave you the sex talk, and he drew pictures, crude, graphic pictures that illustrated things you really hadn’t realised you could do. He told you about college and all the things he had done, and you realised how worldly and old he was, how bristling with experience. He even offered to teach you how to go down on Lance so you wouldn’t hurt him, and Lance said thank god and kissed you in front of Chris, your first time kissing in front of anyone. You mauled a couple bananas, but eventually you got it. 

At this point in your life, you were on the precipice of adulthood. The night after the Disney concert, you and Lance had the house to yourself. Your mother was visiting friends and when she left she said be careful. You knew exactly what she meant. 

You and Lance talked for hours before you touched his hand and brought him up to your bedroom. You remember being horribly nervous, though you hid it behind bravado, and he called you on it. You made out on the bed for long time, with wet and sloppy kisses all over his face and mouth, before Lance said, “okay, I’m ready.” 

You stroked the soft skin of his hip and kissed over his belly, taking your time because you didn’t want to hurt him. You knew he was scared because he wasn’t entirely hard, so you took him in your mouth and did your best to make him forget. Chris’s lessons had really helped, and pretty soon, Lance was breathing your name. 

You made him turn over onto his belly and put a pillow under his waist, and he froze again, but you kissed all over his back until he thawed. With your heart in your throat, you touched between his legs and slid a finger into his body very, very slowly. Lance was tight and shaking, and you kissed every part of his skin you could touch, telling him how much you loved him and that Chris said it’d get better and that he was so hot from this angle, that you could probably come just from looking at him. You don’t what it was that did it, but he relaxed, and you got two fingers into him, captivated by the slide of your fingers beyond the ring of muscle. 

You really didn’t know what you were doing at all, but he said he was all right, though he whimpered when you slid into him, bigger than he thought you’d be. You rubbed his back, stroked his hips, and eventually he calmed down and you started moving. It hurt him, you could tell, but he seemed determined to do it, and you kept going, determined to make it good for him. 

When he started pushing back, you almost pulled out completely, but he growled a no and said it was suddenly feeling a lot better. You didn’t last long; you’d really spent too much time thinking about it and now you knew how much more wonderful it felt to do it. You came first, and you pulled out so you could suck him off. He came loudly, when he was usually so quiet, and you kissed frantically for another hour until you both came again, jerking each other off. 

The next morning, Lance limped, and you could barely stay awake, but you will always remember it as one of the best nights of your young life. 

~~~ 

By the time your eighteenth birthday rolled around, you were a man, but you still weren’t man enough to be able to kiss your boyfriend in public. You came out to Joey and JC at your house by your pool. When JC asked if you had a boyfriend, you said yes and that you were dating Lance. They shared looks, mutual frowns, and JC shook his head; you called them goddamn fuckers and stomped away. 

They came to apologise later and made sure you knew what would happen to the group if you broke up with him and it was messy. You rolled your eyes and said you knew because your mother, Diane and Chris had all told you what the result would be. You and Lance agreed to keep things civil and friendly if you ever broke up. At the time, you were sure that would never happen. 

They were surprised to hear you and Lance had been together for over a year, and you said it started happening even before that. You answered every question they had and you answered them well, strong in your love and smarter than you looked. When Lance showed up later, Joey teased him about having a sexy boyfriend, and Lance blushed bright red and said you were even better naked. You blushed, too, leaning into him and laughing. 

But you had your first huge fight three weeks later, and even now you can’t remember what it was about. You were both still teenagers, though Lance was about to turn twenty and that made him old. You screamed at him for always working, and he called you an arrogant prick. You slammed the door and ran to JC, demanding he fix it. He couldn’t, of course, and the next day you and Lance sat down and got over it. You made love that night and it felt like the first time. It almost was because he’d never been inside you before. 

That was the year Lance got sick, and you can’t remember even crying more in your life than you did for those two hours when they weren’t sure he was going to be okay. You cried all over Chris and made him promise Lance would be fine, and Chris said of course he would be because none of you could exist without him. When they let you sit by his bed, you cried on his chest while he patted your hair and said everything was going to be okay, that he was going to be back to normal in no time; he was just tired and hurting, but things would get better. He could only breathe the words, and you felt his pain like it was your own. 

You remember standing beside your brothers when you decided to leave Lou and TransCon, proud of your strength and courage. When you were sued, your mom and Diane countersued, angry because their children were suffering. You lost a lot of weight and suffered terrible nightmares, and Lance kissed you back asleep every night, not dead at all but brilliantly alive. Eventually, everything ended and things turned out fine. You loved Lance even more. 

But for the most part, being eighteen was a quiet year when nothing but fame really happened. You and Lance continued on as boyfriends, and while he learned about the world, you spent hours in front of the mirror making yourself perfect. As he read contracts, you beat-boxed and transformed into a popstar. 

~~~ 

You were nineteen and amazed you were still with Lance. You talked about this with him, expressed your surprise and your love, and Lance smiled and told you not to worry. If it was meant to work out, it would work out. You sometimes thought about having sex with other guys, but it wasn’t enough to make you want to do it, and you only thought about JC sometimes these days, like when he smiled at you and nobody saw or in the way he touched your hair and joked about what a pretty mouth you had. 

The papers said you were dating Britney, so you phoned her and invited her out to lunch because you hadn’t seen her in months, though you considered her a close friend. You came out to her in a park, smiling shyly while you told her about Lance, and she asked if you wanted her to pretend to be your girlfriend and that she wouldn’t mind if you did. 

That was your second huge fight, when you told Lance about what she said, and he didn’t talk to you for a week. You didn’t understand what the problem was until JC sat you down and explained that Lance was afraid you’d leave him for her and that JC thought Lance’s fears were reasonable. It was only then that you realised no one seemed to understand what gay meant to you, and that made you angry. 

“I’m a fag, JC,” you said, gritting your teeth. “I’m a fucking homo!” 

JC pulled back. “Why are you -- ? Justin, stop saying it like that.” 

“You don’t know shit about me! This is my life, JC! This is who I am! You think Lance is the first guy I ever wanted? You think it’s all about convenience?” You grabbed JC by the shirt and hauled him up, using your strength to shake him. “I loved you for years, Jayce. I wanted you, thought about you, jerked off to you, for fucking years. This is nothing new. This is who I’ve always been. It’s in my blood.” 

You let go of him and stared, shaking with anger. JC said he hadn’t known, and you knew he was lying, could tell it in the way he looked only at the carpet. You told JC to get the fuck out of your house and to go back to Lance and just forget you ever existed. You started crying when you said that and punched the wall. It was JC who put ice on your swollen knuckles and said he would talk to Lance about everything. 

When Lance showed up the next day, you let him in, and you talked about his fears while he listened to yours. You made love again that night, and in the morning he told you to date Britney and make it look real. The papers were after him again, calling him queer, and he didn’t want you to go through that, too. You kissed him deeply and said you loved him. 

He nodded, but everything changed again. 

~~~ 

You remember how it was fine for a few months, how it was beautiful and perfect and just wonderful, but you were the centre of the world, the front-man, and the fans needed you more than Lance did, or so you thought. Lance was pulling away, and there was nothing you could do stop it. It hurt, and you didn’t know how to deal with it, so you cheated on him. 

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. You were drunk and lonely at a trendy celebrity party because Lance was too busy to come and JC was already passed out in the limo. Joey and Chris were with their girlfriends, and you were a solitary man, all by yourself in the world and trying to pretend you were sober because you weren’t old enough to drink. 

The friendly hand on your shoulder surprised you. You thought you were sworn enemies, but Howie didn’t seem to realise it, and he was nice to you. He was quiet and pretty and laughed about your legal woes and seemed honestly happy that you’d won. You realised he hated Lou, too, and you whispered about that, got a bit too honest about your life, but Howie just smiled and confessed he was wasted out of his mind and said, “me, too.” 

When you woke up the next morning, he was gone, but you remembered what you did with him, the way he kissed, the way his back arched under your hands, how hot he was inside. He left you a note with an apology and a thank you because it was so hard to be a gay popstar, and it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one. You burned his note with your lighter but remembered the words forever. 

When you told JC, he didn’t believe you, but you banged your head against the wall hard enough to draw blood and he grabbed you by the shoulders and certainly believed you then. He said you had to tell Lance, and you just started bawling, a pain so deep in your soul that you thought you would never recover. You hadn’t meant for it to happen. 

You remember telling him and how Lance had just nodded and said he’d expected it, that it was okay. You said it wasn’t okay at all because you’d done a terrible thing, even if you were drunk, but a part of you was angry that he seemed so resigned, like he knew you would do it. You told him that and he kissed you on the cheek and left his set of your keys on the table as he shut the door behind him. It was only later that you realised you broke up. 

You were inconsolable for a week, and Chris stayed with you for the first few days, leaving only when JC showed up with chocolate and Apple Jacks. You cried more with him than you did with Chris, and he stayed with you until you stopped breaking inside and became numb instead. 

You and Lance were awkward for awhile, but eventually, you sat down and talked about everything, and you hugged for two hours and said goodbye as lovers but hello again as friends. It took awhile to remember how that went, but you got it eventually. 

You always were a fast learner. 

~~~ 

It was two weeks after your twentieth birthday when Lance started dating a dark-haired man named Ethan. You wanted to hate him, you really did, but he loved basketball and embraced you immediately as a close friend. He knew about you and Lance, and you sometimes talked to him in the kitchen when Ethan was sure Lance wasn’t telling him something and you were giving him advice on how to get it out of him. You felt old around Ethan because you had an ex-boyfriend he was dating, and you knew about the world suddenly, which made you feel smart and grownup. 

Lance loosened up around you when he realised you got along with Ethan, and you spent several nights as a third wheel, hanging out with them and being yourself. Ethan set you up with his best friend, and it was fun, but nothing came of it. You talked about cute boys and gay issues and life in the closet. Ethan wasn’t out either, which was good for the group and good for Lance. 

You weren’t really jealous of them, though sometimes it hurt to watch how they were together. You were lonely, and the love of your fans wasn’t enough to keep you full and happy all the time. You were twenty years old and felt ancient. Your life wasn’t supposed to be like this, but you didn’t realise what was about to happen. 

You didn’t know that something was coming for you. 

~~~ 

“What’s up, yo?” You ask, sitting down on the carpet and staring at the televison. Lance and Ethan are snuggled up on the couch, and Ethan runs his palm over your freshly buzzed hair. Lance smiles; he’s been doing that to you all morning. “Cut it out. You’re gonna give me dandruff. Fuck off!” 

Lance laughs and pokes you with his foot, and you yank off his sock, grabbing his toes and tickling. When JC comes into the room, the three of you are tangled up, you versus them, and -- “fuck, JC, help me, please” -- because you are hopelessly outnumbered. 

“What are you doing?” JC asks, looking at you while you tug on his pant leg. 

“Fucking. Get. Them. Off,” you gasp, laughing and trying to push the two of them away. JC joins in on the brawl, and they attack him as furiously as they attack you. You admit defeat because JC just doesn’t know how to fight. He never did. “Okay, okay. Peace, yo. You win.” 

You lean back and press against JC. Not expecting him to be there, you sit up sharply in surprise but his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re comfortable, so you stay where you are and try not to wonder why he’s doing it. He calmly says, “so what’s going on?” 

“Lance and I are about to watch some queer-oriented videos. Non-porn,” Ethan adds when you start grinning and you pout as Lance laughs, sharing the joke because you still have that video and you still watch it on occasion. 

“That’s cool,” JC says, “gotta get in touch with my roots, you know?” 

You turn your head sharply and bang your skull on his chin. “Fuck.” 

“Jayce? You wanna tell us something?” Lance asks slyly, and Ethan is grinning over his shoulder. 

“Bisexual,” JC replies quietly, and you want to punch him as much as you want to kiss him. Those feelings never went away at all, and they’re exploding inside of you as his hand slips over your chest, holding you. “I haven’t dated guys since Memphis. Part of the reason I lost the gig, you know.” 

“Fucker,” you mutter, hands pressed to your face. “You fucker.” 

Lance and Ethan get up and go into the kitchen, and JC rests his head over your shoulder, kissing your neck and squeezing. “I’m here now,” he whispers, and you shiver inside. “I couldn’t. You were just a kid, Justin. I needed to let you grow up, and I didn’t even know what I was feeling until so much later.” JC’s hand lies over your heart, and it’s hot through your tee-shirt. “You know I loved you. You must have known. That basketball cost me three hundred dollars.” 

“You fucker,” you say one last time, and then you’re in love with him again, deeper and harder than before, and you turn in his arms and press your mouth against his. He kisses back, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding his forehead against yours and stopping the kiss. “I love you so much, Jayce, you fucking asshole.” 

And it doesn’t matter that you hated him in the beginning or that you fell out of love in middle or that he loved you all along. All that matters is he’s yours now, and it all came around full circle.


End file.
